


one thousand and one nights

by words_unravel



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Cat Burglars, Chance Meetings, M/M, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Sirens, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1401943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Adventures Across Time, Space, And All That's In-Between.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	one thousand and one nights

**Author's Note:**

> [ _prompt:_ written for [](http://bandomreversebb.livejournal.com/profile)[**bandomreversebb**](http://bandomreversebb.livejournal.com/) mix #50 [I Just Wanna Fight Dragons](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/28583.html).]
> 
> [ _warning(s):_ slight violence]
> 
> [ _beta(s):_ [](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/)**cloudlessclimes** ]
> 
> [ _a/n:_ The mixer wanted to inspire an "adventure" with the list of songs on _I Just Wanna Fight Dragons_ and for the longest time I could not decided how the story wanted to be written. It turns out that there wasn't a single story to be written. Instead, numerous small tales were weaved throughout the mix. Unfortunately, I did not get to write all of the songs on the mix, but I hope the mixer enjoyed the ones I was able to complete. As always, many thanks go to the mods for running a very challenging challenge and my beta for helping me out in a tight spot! The final thank you goes out to my boyfriend who so graciously put together the mix cover. ♥]

* * *

**Tale #1: Invincible**  
 _When they finally come to destroy the earth /_  
 _they'll have to go through you first /_  
 _and I bet they won't be expecting that /_  
 _When they finally come to destroy the earth /_  
 _they'll have to deal with you first /_  
 _and my money says they won't know about /_  
 _the 1000-Fahrenheit hot metal lights behind your eyes_  
~(OK Go)~

  
"So you're like Superman?"

Brendon's breathing sounds unnaturally loud in his ears. Of course, when you're running for your life, that's probably par for the course.

"Where'd you come from?" he manages to ask. The guy who saved his ass currently has an arm slung across Brendon's chest, like Brendon's going to stick his head out willy-nilly. "How'd you know I was in trouble? Thank you for saving me, by the way."

The guy snaps his head around. "Shut _up_. It's like you want him to find you."

Brendon snorts, albeit quietly. "I don't even know _why_ he wants me dead." It's a little unnerving to know that someone wants to kill you. "I mean, I sing all the time in the lab, but I don't think that's a good reason for wanting to choke me to death. Do you?" He looks up to find the guy staring at him like he has a second head. "What?"

He gets a head shake before the guy turns his attention back to watching for movement. Brendon continues to listen to the sound of his own harsh breathing and wondering what the fuck just happened.

*

The sound of the door opening makes Brendon look up from his microscope. He can hear the soft footfalls of someone coming down the hall, the lab's glass windows giving them a weird echoing sound. Brendon looks back into the scope, jotting down a note. The swish of the lab door makes him glance up again.

"Hey," Brendon offers, smiling. The lab is always getting new techs. Brendon's been around the longest though and usually the one to show people the ropes. He takes a quick look at his watch. It's after ten, a little late for a tech but then Brendon's working late himself. "Are you new?"

The guy doesn't answer, just stands there standing at Brendon. "I'm Brendon," he offers after an awkward silence. Something in his stomach twist uneasily. There's another exit behind him. He slides off his stool, casually reaching for his bag. Zipping it up, he slings it over his shoulder. "I'm going to go grab a drink," he tosses out, walking toward the other exit, "but I should be--"

The guy starts to move and Brendon breaks into a run, knocking over some stools as a deterrent. The guy is fast and as Brendon slams through the door, he swears he can feel the guy's breath on his neck. He's halfway down the hallway when there's a tug on his backpack. It makes him stumble and he shrugs the bag off when the tug happens again, harder this time. Brendon glances back.

It's a mistake.

The guy tackles him. They roll so quickly that Brendon doesn't even get to catch a breath before they're upright again. There's an arm around his throat and Brendon scrabbles at the iron grip.

"Please," he begs. He gets a good shot at the guy's shin with his heel, but all it does is earn him a grunt and a tightening around his throat. Spots are starting to appear in his vision and he thinks randomly, _Who's going to take care of Bogie?_

A second later, he's sprawled across the floor, gasping in huge gulps of air.

A hand at his throat, Brendon looks up to find a second person has taken his place and is doing a much better job of putting up resistance. Wincing as the new guy takes a fist to the jaw, Brendon continues to watch as he manages to get his legs between their bodies, shoving the attacker away and into the wall. He hits hard and slides down to his knees.

And if Brendon's day isn't weird enough, what happens then just takes it to the next level.

The guy fucking _snarls_ , launching himself across the hallway. Brendon catches a glimpse of elongated teeth and claws right before the two go rolling down the hallway again. He should get up now, get the fuck out of here, but for some reason his legs aren't cooperating. Reading about Supers is one thing, but the real thing is more than a little terrifying.

"Fuck this shit," Brendon mutters, pushing to his feet. His legs are finally cooperating. Mostly. They're a little wobbly and Brendon can already feel the ache of bruises setting in. His bag is in his hand when two bright pinpoints of light send Brendon's attacker through the glass wall of the lab. Sirens immediately start blaring. A moment later, the second guy is standing there. Brendon can't speak, which is good since he just grabs Brendon's wrist and they start to run.

*  
"So you're like Superman?"

That earns Brendon a glare.

"No, really." Brendon thought about tugging on his sleeve, but that felt a little junior high-ish. "You're not big though, like him."

"That's because he's a comic book character. Now shut UP."

"Can't I at least know your name?" Brendon said quietly. "You did save my life and all."

"Not yet," the guy mutters, but he does turn toward Brendon. It's the first time Brendon's really gotten a good look at him. Brendon was right though, the guy isn't that big - maybe six foot, with decent shoulders and a strong grip. His eyes, though, are pretty killer from what Brendon can see in the low light. "So that's why the beam was blue," Brendon says.

Brendon swears the guy blushes, but he turns back to look around the corner again before Brendon can really tell.

"Come on." He tugs at Brendon's arm, fingers tightening around his wrist. "It looks clear, let's go."

Brendon goes, protesting quietly, "But you haven't answered my question."

"What?" The tone is frustrated, the look thrown over a shoulder doubly so.

"Your name," Brendon insists again. He almost misses it over the sound of the squealing tires of an approaching vehicle.

"Smith, Spencer Smith."

 

 **Tale #2: Joker and the Thief**  
 _Can you see The Joker flying over /_  
 _as she's standing in a field of clover /_  
 _watching out every day /_  
 _I wonder what would happen if he took her away_  
~(Wolfmother)~

  
Spencer hates these things.

He doesn't understand why his stepfather won't just lend the pieces to the art museum; their security is more than adequate. Spencer's fairly positive that it's all just a big giant ego feed, showing off his big, elegant home to all the lesser mortals.

One of the caterers wanders by with a tray of champagne and Spencer grabs one, swallowing the entire contents in one go. When he brings the glass down, it's to see his mother frowning at him from across the room. With a sigh, he plasters on a fake smile and makes the rounds.

An hour later and it feels like both his hand and his lips are going to fall off. Fake smiles and insincere handshakes, his world is nothing but these things. That's often what it seems like anyway. Spencer takes a deep breath and takes another flute of champagne. He takes his time with this one, sipping it slowly and looking around the room. An unfamiliar dark-headed stranger is standing in front of one of Spencer's favorite pieces. An _attractive_ unfamiliar stranger.  
*

"You like it?" Spencer asks.

The stranger startles, turning toward Spencer. He _is_ attractive, ridiculously so. Spencer tries really hard not to stare at his lips. He has a feeling he's failing when they curve into a wide smile.Embarrassed, Spencer clears his throat, making a concerted effort to look up. It doesn't really help. Dark brown eyes are framed by thick black lashes, accentuated by a hint of eyeliner.

"What?"

"What?" Spencer asks back. Shaking his head, he laughs at himself. "Sorry. You, ah." The stranger's smile widens. Spencer takes a deep breath, evens himself out, and points at the painting, asking again, "Do you like it?"

The stranger hesitates, eyes dragging down the length of Spencer's body before shifting to the indicated art piece. He tilts his head to the side. "It's a little romantic for me, truthfully. But I can understand the appeal." He glances back at Spencer. "It's called Lament in Clover, isn't it?"

"It is!" Spencer exclaims. "It's a rather obscure piece though. I'm surprised you knew that, most people don't."

A shrug. "I'm a bit of an art nut, what can I say?" He smiles up at Spencer. "I take it you are as well?"

Spencer nods. Maybe it's the champagne, but he's feeling a bit reckless. His stepfather is going to kill him. "Do you want to get out of here?" he asks abruptly.

"Why, Sir." There's another smile and a step in toward Spencer. "You don't even know my name."

Swallowing, Spencer says quietly, "You can tell it to me on the way out."

*

Brendon is easy; he's fun. They can talk for hours. Or spend just as long in Spencer's bed. Spencer's mother adores him and even Spencer's surly stepfather is charmed.

Spencer's fairly sure that he's in love.

Brendon doesn't talk much about his past. Spencer's garnered that his parents are dead and that he's inherited enough money to be comfortable. Spencer knows he plays the guitar like a pro and sings like he was born for nothing else.

Spencer _knows_ he's in love.

*

Brendon's at the dinner table when Spencer's stepfather, David, announces they have a buyer for _Lament in Clover_.

"Who is it?" Spencer demands immediately. His stepfather shrugs. "They prefer to remain anonymous."

"Refuse." Spencer's voice is adamant. Brendon puts a hand on his arm. "Spencer--"

It does no good, Spencer is having none of it. "That's extremely shady and I don't think you should sell."

"Art often exchanges hands anonymously," Brendon offers, and Spencer's stepfather waves a hand in agreement. Spencer glares at Brendon.

"Whose side are you on?" he snaps.

"Spencer," Brendon tries again. His voice is oddly intent. "I know it's your favorite piece, but please--"

"It's your favorite?" David asks. Something shifts in Brendon's face, but before he can decipher it, David continues. "Why didn't you say so, Spencer?" Without waiting, David adds, "I'll put it in your name on Monday. An excellent investment for any young man."

And just like that, the conversation's over.

*

"You were quiet at dinner," Spencer says as he tugs Brendon's shirt off. "After David decided not to sell the painting." Brendon doesn't answer, just returns the favor, unbuttoning Spencer's shirt and sliding it off his shoulders. Spencer reaches for the button on Brendon's slacks.

"Were you the buyer?" he asks quietly. Brendon shakes his head.

Sliding his hands under the elastic, Spencer pushes Brendon's underwear down. "Then why--"

"Shut up, Spencer," Brendon tells him. Then he kisses Spencer and they don't talk for a long time.

*

The spot next to him is still warm when Spencer wakes. The darkness fills the room and when Spencer whispers Brendon's name, he knows there won't be an answer. Sliding out of bed, he slips on an old pair of sweats.

He finds Brendon exactly where he knew he would.

"Go back to bed, Spencer." Brendon's voice is low and harsh. "Go back to bed," he says again. "And in the morning this will be an old nightmare."

"And you'll be gone, right?" Spencer should be more angry, but the ache in his chest fills everything up. He laughs, "I guess that's the only way this story ends."

Brendon's hand hesitates where he's nearly finished detaching the canvas from the frame. "Why don't you just cut it out? Isn't that what they always do in the movies?" Brendon doesn't answer, just rolls the canvas up and slips it into a familiar black backpack. Spencer would laugh if he didn't want to cry so badly.

"I'll find you," Spencer tells him. Brendon does turn at that, giving a Spencer a small, sad smile. "I will," Spencer insists.

"I'm counting on it," Brendon says quietly. He disappears over the balcony's edge.

 

 **Tale #3: Mountains**  
 _Nothing lasts forever, except you and me /_  
 _(You are my mountain, you are my sea /_  
 _Love can last forever, between you and me /_  
 _(You are my mountain, you are my sea /_  
~(Biffy Clyro)~

  
The house is over a century old, but Spencer falls in love with it instantly. He's not sure why, but there's just something _familiar_ about it.

The realtor is in the middle of espousing something or other--Spencer's not really listening--when he brushes his fingers over an intricate set of lines etched into the mantle over the fireplace. The bookshelf next to him shifts an inch and he jumps, eye wide as he glances over at the realtor. Her own eyes are wide.

"No ones ever found it that fast," she says, eyes narrowing. Spencer shrugs, blushing, and tells her, "Lucky guess?" She looks skeptical, but begins telling him about the history of the house instead. How the original owner was an eccentric musician, rumored to have been estranged from a religious family. Left out in the cold to support himself, he'd moved to this town and became famous for his compositions.

"They tended to be a little--" she pauses, the corner of her mouth tilting up, "risque for the times apparently, but the town loved him." Spencer nods to show he's listening, pulling the wall shelf open a little further and glancing into the darkness. The air is musty. "And then one day, he just disappeared."

Spencer glances over his shoulder, eyebrows coming up. "Never to be heard from again?" he grins. The realtor doesn't smile back and Spencer straightens up, pressing the wall firmly closed. There'll be time to explore later. "So they never found him?" he asks instead, making his way out of the room.

"No," she responds. "they say he slowly faded away. Rejected by a suitor," she adds, glancing sideways at Spencer. "It was one thing to have a male lover then, but quite another to be so blatant about it."

'Thank goodness that's changed, huh?" Spencer responds, giving her a small smile before asking about maintenance on the five acres that comes with the property. That's the last time it's mentioned.

Spencer takes the house.

*

It's been 16 days exactly when the music wakes Spencer from a fuzzy dream of wild hair and a wide, enticing mouth. Fuzzy from sleep, Spencer staggers out of bed and up the stairs. It's a jaunty tune, haunting undertones layered within. It's already fading by the time Spencer makes it halfway up the stairs. He wanders back to bed, half-convinced it was part of his dream and forgets about it the next morning.

It happens again two days later. This time Spencer continues up the stairs. This floor is mainly open space, dimly light from the moonlight coming in the windows. Spencer flips the switch, jumping as one of the lights pop. The remaining lights show nothing there. Shaking his head, Spencer turns to go. "Crazy," he mutters and then stops, glancing back over his shoulder. It felt like someone was watching him.

"Hello?" he asks quietly, his voice carrying across the space. No answer returns. Spencer leaves the lights on anyway.

*

It happens every night for a week, the music fading before Spencer makes it to the upper floor. There's always moonlight and cobwebs when he gets there, nothing more. Spencer's not sure what exactly he's expecting, or whey there's always a little flutter of disappointment right under his rib cage when he finds it empty.

He never mentions it to the realtor.

*

 

_"James. James!", Boyd's voice is insistent, laughter evident, and he turns to find Boyd's bright brown eyes smiling at him. He grabs James' wrist, dragging him up the stairs toward the music room. "You must listen to this," Boyd insists. His heart swells at how happy Boyd looks, how he looks at James. "I believe it's my best piece yet!"_

_He pulls James to the bench beside him and immediately begins playing. James watches, silent. This is one thing he loves nearly as much as Boyd himself, the sheer magnificence that comes from Boyd's fingers, the look of concentration on his face. He takes great pains not to think of what the straight line of Boyd's back as he plays though, nor sweat that likes to bead at the nape of his neck._

_Boyd is right though, this is definitely his masterpiece, and when he turns to James, expectant, James can't help himself. He crashes their mouths together, sliding one hand through those little beads of sweat and wrapping the other around his waist. It's an awkward angle, side by side, but James throws everything into that kiss. An eternity later, James pulls back the tiniest fraction._

_"Marry me," Boyd whispers against his mouth._

_And with those words, James' world comes crashing down._

Spencer wakes, sitting up with a gasp. His breathing is loud in his ears and it takes a moment before he hears it. Music, drifting down from the upper floor.

When he makes his way up the stairs his time, the music doesn't fade.

 

 **Tale #7: Cave**  
 _Please close your ears and try to look away /_  
 _So you never hear a single word I say /_  
 _And don't ever come my way /_  
~(Muse)~

  
Spencer's not paying attention, looking back over his shoulder, when he comes out of the tree line. Because he's not paying attention, he trips over his own feet trying not to tumble over the boy sitting in the pathway and ends up on his ass anyway. Scrambling to his feet, he demands, "What the heck are you doing in the middle of the path?"

His mom would smack him in the mouth if she heard him talking to someone like that, but Spencer hates looking like a fool and so the tone of his voice is harsh. The other boy moves quickly, off the ground before Spencer's even finished with his question.

"I'm so, so sorry! Are you okay?"

He's too skinny, is the first thing Spencer thinks. He ignores the niggle of jealousy and looks the other boy over silently. There's a mop of thick, dark hair badly in need of a hair cut, and he's kind of dorky-looking, squinting back at Spencer.

"What's wrong with you?" Spencer asks instead, ignoring the previous entreaty of his health. "Why're you squinting? Are you blind or something?"

A red flush spreads across his cheeks and he ducks his chin, looking away from Spencer. He mumbles an answer that Spencer can't hear.

"What?" he asks again.

"I left them at home." The answer is a little sharp and when he looks up, his gaze is more than a little challenging. He glares at Spencer. It reminds Spencer of his sister's cat when she was just a kitten, startling a laugh out of him.

"Okay, okay," Spencer says, holding up his hands. "Sorry. I was being kind of a horse's ass, I apologize."

For a moment it looks like his apology isn't going to be accepted, but finally, the boy's shoulders drop. Spencer grins and sticks out his hand. "Spencer James Smith."

Wide brown eyes stare at him for a moment before slipping a hand into Spencer's. His grip is firm, and Spencer absently notes that while his palms are soft and smooth, the tips of this fingers are calloused. Spencer wonders momentarily how his own hands feel, but shakes the thought off a second later.

"I'm Brendon."

*

"You'd think after nearly two years, you would know all this stuff."

Brendon startles at Spencer's voice, snapping his head around toward the window. Spencer's precariously balanced on the oak's tree limb, peering in.

Brendon slams his book closed, shoving it under a few other sitting on his desk. Scrambling over, his intense, "Spencer, what the heck are you doing?" making Spencer wrinkle his nose.

"Come outside, Bden. The sun is too fantastic to miss today and I've not seen you in three days." Brendon's not listening to him though, leaning out the window and looking around intently. Rolling his eyes, Spencer says, "I've been betrothed to Miss Greta."

"Did anyone see y--wait, what?" Brendon snaps his gaze up to Spencer's. "You're betrothed?"

Spencer rolls his eyes once again. "Dumbass, of course not. You weren't paying attention to me."

Leaning back against the window sill, Brendon gives him a look. "Why should I pay attention to a grown man who acts like a child, climbing trees like a monkey?"

"You wound me to the core, Brendon Urie." He presses a hand to his chest in a dramatic gesture, and Brendon just rolls his own eyes. Spencer adds, "And I'm not eighteen yet, not for another six months or so."

The mention of Spencer's birthday makes the happy look drop from Brendon's face. His own birthday is only a week or two away. Spencer can't wait to celebrate, but Brendon has never really shared his enthusiasm. He won't tell Spencer why though. Before Spencer can ask about it again, Brendon's climbing up onto the sill, telling him to shove over, and he forgets about it.

*

Brendon's window is boarded up. No matter how hard Spencer pushes, it doesn't give an inch. " _Brendon_ ," Spencer whispers intently.

"He's not here," a voice says below, startling him. Glancing down, he can see Brendon's older sister, Kara, underneath him. He frowns at Brendon's window one more time before making his way down to the ground.

Kara has always been nice to him, looking the other way and indulging the two of them over the last two years. Spencer offers a smile and a pleasant "hey" when he lands, but she doesn't smile back. Something twists in his stomach.

"Did he go to the meadow?" Spencer huffs. "I told that idiot that I would meet him here--"

"They've taken him up to The Cliffs," Kara interrupts, the words clipped. Her lips are pressed together tightly. Like she's afraid they might tremble, Spencer thinks. He realizes he's staring at her mouth and he shakes his head. He can't possibly have heard that correctly.

"What?" Spencer asks again.

"Spencer--" she says, staring at him with wide, sad eyes. Dumbly, Spencer says, "But why would they do that?

"He's a siren, Spencer," she tells him softly. Spencer laughs, but Kara doesn't and his laughter fades as quickly as it started. "That's ridiculous. The sirens are female."

It's true. He's even heard the echo of them occasionally while he and Brendon were lazing about in the meadow, when the wind was blowing just right. The Cliffs are on the coast, far enough away that their influence was harmless. He'd mention it to Brendon, lying beside him, but Brendon never seemed interested. He always changed the subject--

Spencer shakes his head, saying again, "That's ridiculous,"

The look in Kara's eyes tells him differently.

"Fine," he says, pulling his shoulders back, He picks up the sack he'd left leaning against the trunk of the tree earlier. The lute inside makes a hollow sound when he slings the sack over his shoulder. Tipping his chin, he moves past Kara and begins walking.

"What are you going to do, Spencer?" she calls after him. He doesn't look back, answering truthfully.

"Bring him home."

 

 **Tale #9: Save the Day**  
 _Take your pride and swallow, swallow /_  
 _(stand up, don't walk away, hey) /_  
 _take your pride and run /_  
~(The Living End)~

  
 _Keep your head up_. Brendon looks up from the note in his hand, glancing around. It's the same as every other day, everyone keeping their heads down, trying not to be noticed. He looks back down. _Your time is coming, I promise._

It's not the first note he's found on his desk. The first one appeared nearly three weeks ago, right after everyone and their dog had seen Brendon get reamed by his boss, (appropriately named) Dick. Later on, when they'd discovered that it hadn't been Brendon's fault at all, there'd been no apology. There'd been a note though, folded up on his desk. _Brendon_ in neat, block letters. Inside, _Dick is a dick_ \--Brendon laughed-- _and everyone knows you're the reason he's where he's at._

They kept showing up randomly, always at times when Brendon seemed to need them most. He doesn't know who's leaving them and he's definitely curious, but a part of him hopes he doesn't find out. Finding those folded pieces of paper on his desk always brighten his day and he's not quite ready to give them up yet.

*

Brendon swears. Dick's not happy with the presentation he's put together, so Brendon is rushing to make the changes requested. Glancing at the clock in the corner of his screen, he curses again. He's not going to have time to go home, grab his guitar and change before heading over to A&K. Playing with the house guitar is never quite the same as using his own baby.

That's another bright spot in his life, open mic night at the bar around the corner. The place is tiny and always packed. Brendon doesn't know much more than the name of the owner, Pete Wentz, and apparently no one else does either. He's a bit of a recluse, rumors running from having ties to the mob to running a million dollar record label. It always makes Brendon roll his eyes.

He's glad for a place to play, he can't lie. The landlord's finally quit pestering him about noise complaints and he's even got a little following that stand at the front of the stage. A few of them even know the words to his songs, something that makes everything that happens to him from 8 to 5--he glances back at the clock--7:40 each day fade away.

The minute Dick nods his head, Brendon's out the door. "Don't be late in the morning!" follows him, but Brendon ignores it, grabbing his satchel and coat. His watch reads 9:23 when he gets to the club. There's already twenty or so people waiting at the door. Zack, the door guy, notices him. Jerking his head for Brendon to come up.

"Thought you weren't going to make it, B." he says, opening the door. He points a finger at the couple standing behind Brendon. They quit complaining immediately. Brendon grins.

"Dick," is all he says and Zack nods.

"The natives are getting restless," he tells Brendon. "Better get your ass in there." Brendon nods this time, grin widening, and heads inside. The place is wall to wall people already. And loud.

Brendon's almost to the stage when someone slams into his back, making him stumble against the guy in front of him. "Sorry," Brendon gasps, trying to get his balance back. The guy's eyes widen a bit when he turns around, getting a good look Brendon. They're blue, bright even in the half-darkness of the club. Brendon opens his mouth to apologize again, but what comes out instead is, "Have we met before?" followed immediately by, "Oh my god, that sounds like a pick-up line, sorry."

That startles a laugh out of the guy, and he smiles at Brendon. It strikes Brendon a little dumb, the smile. He sticks his hand out, "Brendon."

"Spencer," the guy returns, ducking his head a little. He shakes Brendon's hand though. Something about him seems familiar and Brendon says, "It's not a pick-up line, I swear, but _have_ we met before? You seem awfully familiar."

Spencer shakes his head, mouth open to respond when Brendon hears his name over the PA. Glancing over Spencer's shoulder, he sees William waving at him. The crowd beneath him sends up a shout. Brendon looks back at Spencer, who's grinning at him. "Your public awaits, it seems."

Brendon can feel his face flushing. "They're pretty easy," he says. Spencer's smile widens, "Or you're just that good." Brendon's about to respond when William calls his name again. "Go," Spencer tells him, jerking his head toward the stage. Before he can ask Spencer to meet him later, a hand drags him away.

Next time he looks, Spencer's gone. Brendon does his best to not be disappointed. His set rocks though, so there's that.

*

 _Soon_ today's note reads. Brendon frowns. It's been a pretty even day, no yelling, no ridiculous demands. Brendon's not quite sure why he's even getting a note today. Still, he unlocks his security drawer and places it with the other notes. When he looks up, there's a guy leaning against the entrance to his cube. He's wearing skinny jeans and a hoodie bright enough that Brendon feels he needs sunglasses. Brendon opens his mouth, snapping it shut a second later.

"Brendon--" Dick's voice is already raised, even though he's right around the corner. Brendon can feel a twitch about to start in his left eye. "I _told_ you---Who are you?" He breaks off, staring at Brendon's visitor.

"Pete Wentz." That makes Brendon's eyes widen. Pete hands him a small, white card. On it, _Pete Wentz_ , followed by _Owner, DecayDance Records_. "I'm here to steal Brendon."

Brendon's not sure how much higher his eyebrows can go. The sneer is evident in Dick's voice when he says, "Oh, really? He's not the best employee." Brendon can feel his jaw tighten, looking away as Pete glances at him.

"That's not what I hear." Brendon's gaze snaps back up, startled. "One of your 'employees' tells me he's damn good at his job." A picture of Spencer appears in Brendon's head and he nearly falls out of his chair. Of course, he _has_ seen Spencer before. He's one of the drones in the accounting department, a floor down. But why would--

"He left the notes!"

Pete glances at him, grinning. Brendon grins back. They both ignore Dick's huffing and puffing. "You wanna get out of this place?" Pete asks.

"Yes," Brendon answers. Dick squawks beside him. "Yes, I do."

The pick Spencer up on the way out of the building.

 

 **Tale #10: Into the Dark**  
 _You tell me baby, that you can feel me /_  
 _I sent a message out into the dark /_  
 _When you kiss me, that's the real me /_  
 _I've gotta find my way to your heart /_  
~(Ben Lee)~

  
Brendon is 10 years old the first time he finds a bottle. It's made of green opaque glass and similar enough to the ones in the junk store he hangs out in every weekend for him to pick it up, curious. It makes a rustling sound when he shakes it, so he tips it upside down. A small piece of paper slides into his waiting palm.

Upon unrolling it, he can see that it's a letter.

 _Hello!_ , it reads. _I have sent this bottle out attached to several balloons as an experiment. If you find it, I hope you are as excited as me!_

The cursive is jagged, unpolished, and Brendon's fairly sure that whoever sent it out is probably around his age. The writer is obviously excited about his 'experiment' which makes Brendon smile.

 _I live in Las Vegas,_ the letter continues, _which you might think is pretty cool. All the lights and casinos and stuff. Mostly it's just boring though. One day I hope to travel the world like this balloon--_ Brendon nearly laughs. Salt Lake City isn't that far from Vegas, so this kid is going to be disappointed.

_Math is next, and it's so boring but I have drum lessons after school, so that's cool. Oh yeah, I play drums! Well, working on playing them anyway. The bell's about to ring so I guess I'd better wrap this up. If you find this, please write back and tell me where it landed. Who knows, it might be cool to have someone to write to, right? My address is at the bottom--_

Brendon breaks off reading, eyes immediately going to the bottom of the sheet. Right below the _S. Smith_ there's only a smeared blur where the address should be. Disappointment floods through him. S. Smith is right, it _would_ have been kind of cool to talk to someone so far away. He almost throws the whole thing back to the ground, but he stops. Instead, he tucks the note into his back pocket. Rolling the bottle around in his hand, he makes his way to the junk shop.

Maybe Ed'll give him a couple bucks for the it.

*

A glint of green catches Brendon's eye and he tunes Melanie out, shuffling a little closer to get a better look. Melanie doesn't even notice, chattering on about something. Brendon tunes her out quite often. They've been dating a little over a month, ever since Brendon's fifteenth birthday. Even though she lets him get to second base, Brendon's having second thoughts on whether it's worth it. Melanie like to talk a lot.

Brendon digs his toe into the dirt. With a little effort he works the bottle loose and picks it up. Deja vu hits him hard and he holds his breath a little as he pulls at the cork ( _that's new this time_ ). There's another letter inside.

 _Hello!_ \--the handwriting is more clear this time. The cursive abandoned, the letters now printed in solid black lines-- _I'm probably crazy for doing this each year, but some part of me just won't let go. Ryan (my best friend) would say that I'm stubborn, but I prefer the word hopeful. After all, what's a world without hope, right? Dark and dreary, the way I think Ryan would like it._

 _Man, you probably think Ryan's a jerk which, yeah, he kind of is. But there's a lot going on with him. His dad's--_ The rest of the sentence is scribbled out. _ANYWAY_ , it continues.

"What's that?" Melanie's voice startles him.

"What?" he says dumbly. She points to the letter in his hand and he shakes his head, shoving the note in his pocket. "Nothing. It's blank," he lies.

"Then why are you keeping it?"

Brendon frowns. "Why does it matter to you?" It's rude, but Melanie's questions are irritating him. He turns around, heading back toward the school. "I forgot my Algebra book. You go ahead and I'll catch up." He doesn't wait for the answer and he can hear Melanie huff behind him. He'll apologize later.

He pulls the note back out, reading quickly through the rest of it. The familiar _S. Smith_ is scrawled at the bottom, but when he looks further, there's not even an address, smeared or not, this time and Brendon can't help the flash of disappointment that goes through him. Again.With a sigh, he folds it up more carefully this time and tucks it into a pocket of his backpack.

Oh well, it's probably better this way. What are the odds, right?

*

Brendon's twenty, in the second year of college and the first year of talking to his parents again. The sophomore dorms are slightly better than the freshman ones. His roommate, however, is _awesome_. Brendon is more than half in love with him. He's also pretty sure Spencer knows this and continues to be the best friend Brendon's ever had.

He flings himself through the doorway, tossing his bag on the bed. "Spencer! The solo, I got it!"

Spencer startles, turning toward Brendon and half-crumpling the paper under his hand. "Jesus, Brendon!"

"Sorry," Brendon laughs, flinging himself in a similar fashion across Spencer's bed. He gets a grumpy, "Urie," and waves it away. "I'll return it to its former glory, I swear." Spencer just rolls his eyes and goes back to writing.

The adrenaline of his winning must wear off because the next thing Brendon knows, Spencer is shaking him awake. "Come on, dork. Let's go."

"Where're we going?" Brendon mumbles, stumbling off the bed. Spencer just tugs at his arm.

"You'll see."

They're in the quad before Brendon's really awake. When he looks up, Spencer's kneeling on the ground, his back to Brendon. Three balloons bob over his head.

"Spencer?" Brendon walks around him. "What are you do--"

Spencer's just finished tucking a small piece of paper into a small, clear bottle. He stands up, a blush tinting his cheeks a little pink. "My deep dark secret," he says ruefully. "Letters in a bottle, I send one out every year around this time."

Brendon wants to say, _I know_ , but that's not what comes out. "It's clear," is what falls out of his mouth. Spencer glances over at him, frowning. "What?"

"The bottle," Brendon points to it. "It's clear this time."

"Yeah," Spencer sighs, looking down at the bottle in question. "I couldn't find the ones I really like--" He breaks off, turning to face Brendon fully. His voice is quiet when he asks, "How did you know about the bottle?"

"I, um." Brendon swallows. "I found one when I was ten." Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he shrugs. "And another one when I was fifteen. I wanted to write back," he rushes on. "But the address was all smeared and I couldn't--"

"Brendon." Spencer puts a hand on his shoulder, laughing. "It's not a big deal." Brendon glances up to find Spencer smiling at him. One of the big ones that make the world seem like it's perfect. He grins back.

"You really found two of them?" Spencer asks. He hasn't moved his hand. Brendon nods, offering, "Your penmanship improved greatly between the two."

Spencer laughs, sliding his arm around Brendon, tugging him in closer. He hands the bottle over and Brendon looks up, puzzled.

"It should end where it started then," Spencer tells him. Brendon starts to protest, but Spencer just noogies him. "It's fitting, Bden, trust me. I sent it out looking for a friend and it brought me one."

 

 **Tale #11: Pockets**  
 _It's not your, not your destination /_  
 _something, something better happen /_  
 _it's not your, not your destination /_  
 _something, something better happen /_  
~(Powderfinger)~

  
Brendon would have made it all the way to Bolin's Corridor without knowing he wasn't the only one on the ship if it hadn't been for the ear tabs. After the fourth time of finding them in a place he knew he _hadn't_ left them, Brendon ran infrared on the ship.

There.

A small red blip in the lower cargo bay. It wasn't moving currently, but then, that made sense. The stowaway probably slept all day and then wandered around the ship while Brendon was in a sleep pod.

Completely unsafe, Brendon thought. What if there was a systems malfunction? The sleep pods were completely separate from the main ship's systems, giving a poor bastard some semblance of a chance. Sleeping in the cargo bay, though, it was risky.

Brendon has to admit to some curiosity. The stowaway's managed to go for nearly three weeks undetected. Music is apparently a weakness, but one that Brendon can understand.

*

The kid's not expecting him.

Also, the kid's not exactly a kid. From Brendon's position he can tell that he's in his early twenties, around Brendon's age. He's a little on the skinny side for his frame, too. Something that Brendon's sure he can attribute to living on the scraps of whatever could be found. Brendon clicks the lights on.

"So you like music, huh?"

Brendon's voice is loud, carrying in the openness of the bridge. The stowaway spins around, blinking rapidly against the sudden brightness. One of Brendon's galley knives is clenched tight in his fist.

"Whoah," Brendon says lightly, throwing his hands up. "Not gonna hurt you. Just wanted to see if you might like a real meal, maybe listen to some tunes."

The stowaway is pale, even more pale than Brendon and he's been on ship for nearly three years. His hair is a light brown, his eyes bright, bright blue. Brendon sucks in a breath, surprised. "You're a Radoean."

"No shit." The voice is ragged, congested.

"And you're sick," Brendon adds.

A wet cough. "Aren't you just a font of the obvious." Brendon grins. This one has sarcasm in loads. He likes it. The grin obviously disconcerts his guest because he snarls at Brendon, "Just because I'm sick doesn't mean I can't slice you into tiny pieces."

"Ahh," Brendon sighs. He hops down from his seat on the console. Blue eyes follow him warily as Brendon moves to another console. This one has a number of switches and buttons, some lit, some not. Brendon flips up one particular switch and the ship hums.Turning around, he leans against the metal. "But then who would fly the ship?"

"What makes you think I couldn't?"

Brendon laughs."Oh man. If you could fly this baby, you would have slit my throat weeks ago." He watches the stowaway's shoulders drop.

"Whatever," he mutters. "I only needed a couple more nights to crack the security." That makes Brendon's eyebrows rise. "Then I would have access to her learning databases and no need for you."

He barely gets the last word out before a cough wracks his body. It doesn't stop though and Brendon pushes off the console. The stowaway waves his knife at Brendon, but it's weak. He's obviously struggling for air.

"Fuck this," Brendon mutters, striding over. He barely has to tap the guy's wrist before he drops the knife. Grabbing that same wrist, he drags the both of them toward the sick bay. Halfway there, he has to wrap an arm around a thin waist. The room immediately lights up when they step foot inside. The MedTech program asks in a calm, soothing voice, _How may I assist you today, Captain Urie?_

Brendon shoves the stowaway onto one of the observation tables, telling him sternly, "Stay." It earns him a frigid glare, followed by another round of coughing.

"Pneumonia tab, MedTech. Please," he offers after a pause. Within seconds, a hypospray slides from a nearby chute. Brendon grabs it, turning around.

"No," the stowaway coughs. "You will not stick me with that."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "You are sick." He points at the hypospray in his hand. "This will make you better." Another protest that Brendon ignores. He has to grab both of the stowaway's hands, but he's so weak by now that it's not hard. "Stop being a baby," he says right before he injects the tab.

"Fucker," the stowaway mutters, eyes fluttering. Brendon laughs.

"It's Brendon, actually. You got a name, handsome?" Brendon swears there's an eyeroll at the endearment. It makes him grin again. A Radoean. On his ship. "You're kind is supposed to be extinct, you know."

"There you go again," the guy says. "Stating the obvious." His voice is starting to slur, the sedative portion of the tab taking a bit longer than it should. Interesting. "It's Spencer."

"What?" Brendon leans closer. Any second now, he'll be totally under. "What was that?"

"M'name. It'sspencer." He finally loses the fight, eyelids fluttering shut.

"Spencer Smith."

 

 **Tale #12: Rip It Up**  
 _Did you ever get the feeling you were born to lose /_  
 _smacked in the face with a silver spoon /_  
~(Jet)~

  
Brendon probably wouldn't have noticed her except that she had really nice hands. Nice hands that were reaching for the same fruit he was about to steal. When he glanced up, her bright blue eyes startled him for a moment.

And that's when the yelling started.

Brendon slid back into the crowd with skill born of many years. He kept an eye on the girl though. She was nearly as tall as Shahad, the cart owner. He couldn't really hear what was going on, but the shining length of a blade was clear enough. As was the fear he could see in a set of widened eyes. Before he could stop himself, Brendon pushed back to the front of the crowd.

"THERE you are!" he cried loudly. With a quick turn, he'd slipped the girl out of Shahad's grip. Hands on her arms, he shook here lightly. "I told you that you weren't to run off by yourself, sister." He glanced over at Shahad, who was looking at them skeptically. "Sorry, sir, for the inconvenience. My sister is a bit--" He twirled his finger in a circular motion around his temple. "Odd."

From the corner of his eye, Brendon can see the girl's gaze narrow. Quickly, he grabbed a fruit. To Shahad, "She thinks these fruits are babies."

"Really?" Shahad's eyebrow was raising higher.

"Yup!" Brendon shoved the fruit at the girl, staring hard. "See?" To his relief, she grabbed the fruit and cradled it, crooning softly. Shahad's skepticism was waning and Brendon turned the girl again, pushing her away from the cart. Over his shoulder he said, "Thank you, kind sir, for your understanding in this family matter!"

They're halfway down the street before he can hear Shahad shout, the merchant realizing they'd walked away with one of his fruits. Grabbing the girl's wrist, Brendon muttered, "Run!"

*

They round a corner, panting, and Brendon says, "That should do it. They always give up after a few blocks." He grabs the fruit from the girl's hand, tossing it up and catching it. "Fat and slow," he laughs. "You okay?"

"Yes, thank you."

The voice that answers is deep, masculine and startles Brendon into missing his next toss. "You're a guy!?"

A hand comes to pull down the veil, revealing a rounded face. Young, Brendon notes, like himself. But definitely male.

"Wha-? Why?" Brendon finally sputters. "Who are you? And WHY are you dressed like a girl?"

"My name is--It's James." He sticks out a hand to Brendon. "James Spencer. And well--" James dips his chin, then looks back up with a grin. The smile illuminates his face and Brendon's breath catches a bit ."This is the only way I could get out for a while."

"So, not only a boy, but a foreigner as well. I should have known from the eyes." Brendon takes his hand, looking him over. He's almost pretty enough to be a girl. He can understand why he chose the outfit. "You should keep covered though, you'll burn."

"Burn?" James tilts his head, curious.

"Well," Brendon grins. "You've obviously gone to a lot of trouble to do a bit of exploring, yes?" He doesn't wait for the answer, reaching up to tug the veil back in place. "I feel it's my duty as city's best tour guide to give you a bit of a show then and the sun tends to be a little warm here."

Blue eyes are smiling, he can tell. And this is going to come back to haunt him. He reaches out a hand anyway.

"Shall we?"

 

 **Tale #13: The Biggest and Longest Adventure Ever**  
 _And every time I looked inside you, I saw honesty /_  
 _And honestly, I'd have to say you're the perfect company /_  
~(The Grates)~

  
Spencer knows things haven't been right in a long time. So he's not really surprised when Ryan calls him out for lunch. It's not a place they go to very often, a fact that Spencer appreciates. They even shake hands when lunch (and their band) is done. Spencer spends twenty minutes in his car, just sitting in the parking lot, trying to remember how to breathe.

When Spencer gets home, Brendon doesn't ask where he's been. A short-lived relief for sure, but another small thing Spencer's glad for on what's most likely the worse day yet of his young life.

Definitely short-lived as Spencer wakes up the next morning to Brendon sitting on the edge of his bed.

"It's creepy to stare at people while they sleep, you know." Spencer's trying to keep the mood light, but Brendon's having none of it.

"Spencer."

Groaning, Spencer shoves a pillow over his face. Maybe if he suffocates himself, this conversation won't happen.

_"Spencer."_

He still doesn't respond, holding still, as if it might make Brendon go away. He's been watching too much Animal Planet or Discover, whatever shit Brendon has on his cable. A second later, the pillow's being tugged away and Spencer opens his eyes to find Brendon leaning over him.

"Tell me," he insists. The words are quiet, but Spencer can feel them to his toes. He sighs.

"Ryan doesn't think it's working anymore." Spencer shrugs. "I agreed."

He makes himself look at Brendon, only to find him staring at the wall. The look on his face is a million miles away. Spencer continues. "Jon's really never been into our style, so he and Ryan are goin--"

Brendon cuts him off abruptly with, "What about you?"

"Me?" Spencer frowns. Brendon still isn't looking at him. Spencer starts to sit up. "Brendon--?"

"Are you going, too?" The question is defiant, but Spencer can see the fear hiding in the corner of Brendon's eyes.

"Hey--" Spencer reaches out. Brendon flinches at his touch, but at least he finally looks at Spencer. Reaching out again, Spencer wraps his hand around Brendon's wrist. "I'm not going anywhere, Brendon Urie. You're stuck with me, I'm in this to the end, okay?"

Brendon stares hard at him, like he's trying to burn the truth out of Spencer. "I'm not leaving," Spencer says again. A second later, all the tension falls away from Brendon and he ducks his chin.

"Just us then?"

"Always," Spencer answers. It's true, he realizes suddenly. They're going to ride this thing to the end. Together.

Brendon breaks into his thoughts. With a widening smile, he says, "Another adventure, huh, Spence?"

Spencer grins back.

"The biggest and longest adventure yet."  


**Author's Note:**

> [mix post](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/28583.html)
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> [posted originally in the prompt community here on 03/20/12]  
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